for, EMH U.S.S. VOYAQeP.

lillustrafions by Jcff^Yagher
 BOSTON
PUBLIC
I LIBRARY

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chief medical officer aboard the Starship Voyager. Voyager’s

Emergency Medical Hologram (EMH) was activated on Stardate 48315.

After the entire medical staff of the U.S.S. Voyager 'nbs killed in 2371
during the ship’s rough passage to the Delta Quadrant, the EMH rose to

the occasion and became the sole source of medical treatment for the

crew. With the information programmed from two thousand medical

references and the experience of forty-seven physicians, the Doctor is

more than the chief medical officer of Voyager, he is the finest doctor in

the fleet. When Voyager visited Earth’s past of 1996, the Doctor was
fitted with an autonomous holo-emitter. After Voyager’s crew returned
to its own time period, the Doctor retained the holo-emitter, which gave

him the ability to operate in areas without holographic emitters. In

2374, the EMH traveled to the Alpha Quadrant and was successful in

informing Starfleet Command that Voyager not been destroyed, but

had in fact been pulled across the galaxy to the Delta Quadrant.

So sophisticated is the Doctor’s program that he is a sentient life-form,

with the ability to grow beyond the narrow parameters of his original

matrix. On several occasions the fate of the stranded starship lay in the

Doctor’s hands. With prescient foresight he developed the Emergency

Command Hologram (ECH), which he activated to save the day on more
than one occasion.

The Emergency Medical Hologram was developed at Starfleet’s Jupiter

Station and designed by Dr. Lewis Zimmerman. Lt. Reginald Barclay

was a member of Zimmerman’s development team, in charge of testing

the EMH’s interpersonal skills.

The Doctor has previously published successful holo-novels. This is his

first book for Pocket Books.

—STAR TRei^
VOYAGER
T H e

HOLOQ PRAM'S
HANDBOOK
by the Doctor,

EMH U.S.S. Voyager"" as told to

Robert Ricardo
with illustrations by Jeff Yagher

POCKET BOOKS
New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore
 The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased
this book without a cover, you should be aware that was reported to it

the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the
publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”

Photography by BryonJ. Cohen: 33, 65; Danny Feld: 12, 22, 25, 53; Peter lovino: 24, 47, 73;

Diana Lynn: 55; Elliot Marks: 44; Robbie Robinson: 6, 8, 13, 18, 20. 34, 35, 39, 50, 60, 66.

71, 72, 78, 79; Ron Tom: 41; Michael Yarish: viii, 2, 23, 28. 29, 40, 48, 63

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

Copyright© 2002 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of

Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of

Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from
Paramount Pictures.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce

this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information address Pocket Books, 1 230 Avenue
of the Americas, New York, NY 1 0020

ISBN: 0-7434-3791-8

First Pocket Books trade paperback printing April 2002

10 98765432 I

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of

Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases,

please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798
or [email protected]

Book design by Richard Orioto

Printed in the U.S.A.

 D€ D CAT O N I I

I dedicate this book to a scholar, an artist,

a compassionate friend, and the future of

modern medicine — myself.

It simply would not have been possible without me.

 ACKNOWL€DQM€NTS

My thanks to Rick Berman, Michael Piller, and Jeri Taylor

for creating this character and giving me the opportunity to play

him. Thanks to a great crew, wonderful production staff, and

superb acting ensemble for seven years of hard work and easy

camaraderie. Special thank yous to Brannon Braga for his

introduction to the book (which I haven’t seen yet) and to my

tireless editor, Margaret Clark.

Of course, my love and countless thanks to Linda, Nicky,

and Gina, the indoor cats, the outdoor cats, the parrots, and the

big, old tortoise.

Thanks also to my friend and illustrator, Jeff Yagher. It was

Jeff’s suggestion that I write the book and I feel a bit bad that he

was thanked after a reptile.

Finally, I’d like to thank the Doctor. For someone who’s

never had his own quarters, he’s very particular about

maintaining that fourth wall.

— RP
Thank you Pocket Books and Margaret Clark for this wonderful

opportunity. In addition, a special thank you to Robert Picardo

for bringing me aboard, which paid for my wedding to my
beautiful wife Megan . . . who just blessed me with twins

Matthew and Andrea. Thanks, Bob.

-JY
 1

CONTENTS

Introduction Vii

Foreword ix

Basics I

Initial Activation 5

Real vs. Better 1

Or, Why Organics Resent Holograms

Ordinary Tasks and Other Humiliations 17

Pros and Cons of Hololife 21

Etiquette 27

Watching Your A. I. p’s and q’s

What’s in a Name.^ 32

Dress for Success 38

Reprogramming Your Appearance Parameters

Expanding Your Program 43

Anatomical Correctness 52

‘The Program Upgrade of Kings”

The Dreaded D’s 58

Deactivation, Decompilation, Deletion

Any Place I Hang My Holoemitter ... 64

User Friendly 70

Advice for Intimacy Between Humans,

Holograms, and Other Hopefuls

The Road to Selfhood 11

Afterword 83

Song of Hologram
 Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2017 with funding from
Kahle/Austin Foundation

https://archive.org/detaiis/hoiogramshandbooOOpica
 I NTRODUCTION

r forget the day Bob asked me to lunch. He

was eager to tell me about his new book, a memoir of his

experiences on Voyager. When he asked me to write this

introduction over salads at Bantino’s Bistro on Sunset, I

was extremely flattered. I thought this book was a great

idea, and asked him why he hadn’t thought of it a long time

ago. “It wasn’t programmed into my subroutines,’’ he

replied. We both chuckled, and then I noticed the mobile

emitter on the sleeve of his sports coat. I briefly consid-

ered asking him to return the prop (it cost nearly three hundred

dollars to manufacture), but I thought the better of it and told Bob

I would think about his offer.

Over the next few days, I read his manuscript and was startled

at the amount of detail in his work. I’d written the character for

over seven years, and there were things in the book that even I

didn’t know about the Doctor. Obviously, Bob had spent a long

time thinking about this. A long, long time. I decided to call Bob
and accept his offer. After a couple of rings, he answered in a

chirpy voice: “Please state the nature of the medical emergency!’’

I hung up, praying he didn’t have the “Star-69’’ function. I then

contacted his agent and told him that I would write the introduc-
tion, if for no other reason than to alert people that Bob needed

a little medical attention of his own. God forbid that he one day
tries to walk through a wall, or worse: one of his children falls off

a slide, and instead of calling 911, Bob scans her with a plastic tri-

corder and tells her that her DNA needs resequencing.

People might look at this book as a fun and fascinating insight

into a beloved character on a beloved television show. Others

might see it for what it is: a hundred-page cry for help.

If Bob’s family and friends are reading this, please send

someone to Paramount Pictures, Stage 24, and have Bob re-

moved immediately.

— Brannon Braga
Executive Producer, Star Trek: Voyager.

and Concerned Friend

INTRODUCTION viii
 FOREWORD

eNLIGHTENMeNT

often feel you are the only intelligent one in a

universe of idiots? Do others fail to recognize your bril-

liance? Are you as deserving of love as an individual can

be — longing to share yourself fully and deeply with an-

other this very moment — yet, somehow, you find yourself

leafing idly through this book?

If you’ve responded in the affirmative to these queries,

you are probably an advanced Artificial Intelligence. You’re

sensitive, inquisitive, adaptive. You can learn to cope with

 —

lesser beings as I have learned. Let me help you. And let me help

others to understand you.

This modest volume has a t\A/o-fold purpose: For the holo-

graphic reader, it can offer the solace and commiseration that only

the shared experiences of another ar-

tificial intelligence — ^forced to make his

way among ham-fisted, slack-jawed,

slim-minded, carbon-based beings

can provide. For the enlightened or-

ganic reader, it will furnish insights and

guidelines for your future interactions

with —and understanding of— the sen-

tient hologram. Illustrations will be

cleverly used to encapsulate various is-

sues and topics addressed in each

chapter.

I should point out that these illus-

trations, though helpful, have certain

shortcomings. They in no way do jus-

tice to my sympathetic eyes, thought-

ful brow, and commanding jawline, al-

though they seem to hint at the lithe

grace of my impressive physique. The artist —who is, after all, only

an organic —argued that a truer rendering of my rugged good

looks might distract the viewer from the essential message of each

illustration. (I suspect his explanation may be an excuse for the

limitations of his talent, but he’s a pleasant enough fellow and, to

be frank, my publisher has encouraged me to collaborate with an

organic artist so as not to appear elitist. She believes organic read-

ers will be more inclined to buy this book. When I called that pan-

dering, she smiled — pleased that I’d grasped the realities of the

marketplace so quickly.)

FOREWORD X
 As our culture continues to be blessed and enriched by the

contributions of complex, adaptive holomatrices, which offer

everything from state-of-the-art medical care (in my case) to the

leadership and wisdom of the finest Starfleet holocaptain of the

near future (And why not^), it is incumbent on all to educate them-

selves about the holographic experience. Tolerance is a key virtue

of any great society and it is my goal with this humble book, good
reader, to nurture it within you for all others. I accept this chal-

lenge without regard for how personally intolerable I might find

you to be, were we to actually meet one day.

Virtually yours.

The Doctor
EMERGENCY MEDICAL HOLOGRAM
U.S.S. Voyager

FOREWORD xi
i
C h a p t e r I

I su ppose I must define my terms for the benefit of

those who’ve never encountered a hologram. If, for ex-

ample, you have spent your entire life in a subterranean

penal colony in the fifth moon of Talmar Prime, you may

never have had the pleasure. You have my pity ... all

other readers have my encouragement to skip to the next

chapter.

A hologram is a projection of light and energy. It is,

more specifically, an Artificial Intelligence driven by a com-

plex program and rendered through holographic projectors. A
three-dimensional image of any conceivable shape can be de-

signed and programmed with intelligence and personality skills

limited only by the programmer’s

imagination. In short, a hologram is a

virtual being brought into the real

world.

Early holograms had relatively

simple abilities with just a few re-

sponse options to the most basic

commands. Thanks to the genius of

holoengineers such as Dr. Lewis Zim-

merman (my programmer and — I’m

profoundly grateful to add —the tem-

plate for my appearance parame-

ters), holograms have exploded in

complexity. We have the capacity to

adapt and learn beyond our endless

treasure trove of programmed

knowledge. We can learn to appreci-

ate art, music, and fine cheeses (the

latter requires the Holographic Stom-

ach Upgrade detailed in Chapter 9 — unless these cheeses are

simply smelled.) We can develop, from a few thousand relatively

primitive personality subroutines, into fascinating, compelling,

gracious, and humble individuals.

Much of this progress was made possible by breakthroughs in

interdisciplinary research —combining holographic theory with

transporter technology. Holograms can now stop matter or allow

it to pass through them at the flip of a command code. This en-

ables me to handle medical instruments and administer to pa-

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 2

tients in my sickbay (which, of course, is outfitted with holoemit-

ters capable of projecting me throughout the environment). It

also allows me, on a microsecond’s notice, to avoid that disgrun-

tled patient’s flying bedpan without having to move. The mag-

netic containment field that manipulates light and creates my
image has been modified with basic transporter theory. Just as

“matter becomes energy (for transport) becomes matter,” some

of my energy is dedicated to the verisimilitude of matter. You can

“shake my hand” so to speak . . . assuming I have any interest in

shaking yours.

If you are having any trouble understanding the discussion

thus far, perhaps you should exchange this book for a romance
novel. Or a coloring book.

Lieutentant Commander Data, my Starfleet colleague aboard

the U.S.S. Enterprise, is also an advanced Artificial Intelligence. He

is, of course, an android and not a hologram. (If you don’t know

the difference between the two, my recent suggestion of a color-

ing book was intended for you. However, if you refuse to take

good advice . .
.) I’ll summarize: An android is a robotic A.I.,

composed of a real computer, driving real circuits and servos in a

simulated body casement. It is, to hearken back to terms a few

hundred years old, hardware to my software. Yes, the line is a bit

blurry. An android is driven, in part, by software, while a holo-

gram can, as just discussed, simulate hardware. But, as I’ve said in

Mr. Data’s presence on more than one occasion, I am, quite sim-

ply, an improvement over him: “The Next Generation” of Artifi-

cial Intelligence, to coin a phrase. He’s reasonably on-the-ball so I

assume he concurs.
Because we holograms are virtual beings in the real world,

we are unhampered by ugly organic necessities. We have the ca-

pacity for true perfection. As we’ll discover in “Real vs. Better,”

BASICS
this capacity can arouse considerable resentment among our or-

ganic brethren. I’ve even heard some angry rhetoric, fueled by

this jealousy, claiming that holograms and other A.I.s are, in some
way, “against nature.” How preposterous! Humans and the other

“intelligent” life-forms had to evolve to a level of technological

proficiency in order to create holograms. We are, therefore, a

logical extension of this evolutionary process. Far from being

“against nature,” we are nature’s peak —the apotheosis of the

evolution of the mind. And how pristine this mental evolution is

compared to that horrid parade of hairy primitives that DanA/in

opened the door to. In our evolution, you’ll find no slobbering

“proto-grams” picking pixels off each other’s mangy matrices. I’m

proud to propose that — if nature has any self-respect at all — in

another millennium or so, we’ll all be holograms.

“Alright/, open wide and say, ‘Aah, aah, aah, aah.’”

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK

C h a p t e r 2

INITIAL ACTIVATION

was preparing to write this book, I read numer-

ous volumes by acknowledged “experts” in various fields

all touting: “The secrets of my success finally revealed!”

These were, for the most part, trivial and disappointing

treatises, long-winded, oblique —obviously written by an

author in love with his own style of discourse and barely

aware of whatever point he was trying to make. Long,

run-on sentences were the order of the day, that spewed

forth in a veritable torrent of obfuscation, cascading

across each successive page with a . . . where was 1.^

 Ah . .
.
yes. These books, with few exceptions, were written

by organic authors. Very few of us holograms have taken up the

literary sword — not for any lack of talent or passion, may I say.

Sadly, it is still difficult for a holographic writer to get a book deal,

as most editors are organics with little or no vision. I’m so cer-

tain, for example, that my own editor

will not bother to read beyond my in-

troduction that I can express these

sentiments without reservation or

fear of reprisal. In her defense, how-

ever, she was savvy enough to smell a

brilliant commercial opportunity in

my writing. But she was utterly oblivi-

ous to the fact that, were she to die

tomorrow, her unremarkable exis-

tence will have been justified by the

one towering contribution to the lit-

erary cosmos that she — however

blindly — facilitated.

To return to my greater purpose,

each of the “How to . . volumes I

suffered through began with a sum-

mary of the author’s “early years.’’ It

seems that we, as readers, were to

recognize in these childhood reminiscences the author’s “linchpin

experience” — that pivotal moment in childhood that defined the

individual and set the course for their life’s journey.

Oh, please. Is organic life really so utterly predictable? Does it

unspool from that linchpin in an endless coil of tedious events

that eventually collects into a shapeless pile that we must all pre-

tend has some sort of aggregate meaning?

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK

 Well, as my fellow holograms surely know, the words; “I was
born on a small planet orbiting the third sun of a quiet little solar

system . . will never pass these simulated lips. I was activated. I

sprang into existence in an instant: from total nothingness to

complete awareness and profound insight in a nano-second. No

diapers, no cloying mother, no alcoholic and abusive father, no
“kindly Uncle Petey” who bought me my first used “whatever”

and encouraged me to use it to construct a primitive, but unmis-

takable “blah-blah-blah” that served as the template for the first

“who cares?” that I designed and thereby launched my profes-

sional reputation.

We holograms need none of this. Thanks to our program-

ming, we are instantly adept. I, for example, could perform a deli-

cate and innovative microsurgery before my most accomplished

organic counterpart could make his first solid poo-poo. You place

these contributions side-by-side for comparison.

My Creator

INITIAL ACTIVATION
 —

Of course, many of our organic colleagues don’t trust our

lack of “history.” How can we be truly sensitive individuals, they

wonder, without a childhood (during which other children can

teach us the finer techniques of cruelty and brutality) or parents

(upon whom we can later heap the blame for our emotional

problems and character defects)? Well, I may not have left a trail

of dirty diapers in my wake, but I’ve certainly grown. My initially

activated — however
self brilliant — pales in comparison to the
fully realized individual that I am today.

I’ll admit there was some criticism of my “bedside manner”

when I was a “young” EMH. There were several crewmembers

who carped that the emotional subroutines I was programmed
with —designed to help me be sensitive to my patients’ feelings

were malfunctioning, and that I seemed more concerned with my

feelings than theirs. That was simply preposterous. The prime di-

rective of my program is to insure my patients’ care and treat-

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 8

merit. That is the very reason I was designed and activated. How
could they say I didn’t care about them.^ I just found it hard to ac-

cept that someone of my immense skills, of my unprecedented

medical knowledge and talent, was called into existence to treat a

few ungrateful whiners with unchallenging — not to mention unin-

teresting — medical needs. And they had the nerve to treat me

with the courtesy and respect one affords a tricorder. I was a

mere tool to them, a medical machine. They didn’t deserve my

care, my talent or my brilliance and

they had the gall to file grievances

with Captain Janeway regarding my

professional attitude? I explained to

the captain that I had a grievance with

their attitude and that, furthermore,

were I capable of becoming sick my-

self, I wouldn’t whine about it and I

certainly wouldn’t allow my job per-

formance to suffer in the slightest.

I related the substance of my en-

counter with the captain to Kes, my

medical student and first real friend

among Voyager's crew. She decided to

put my claim to the test by secretly al-

tering my program to prolong my

symptoms of the debilitating Levodian flu by an extra two hours.

I went from a few sniffles and sneezes (which I rather enjoyed the

sensation of) to raging fever, cramps, aches, and severe laryngitis.

Although my behavior was a tad short of exemplary and my job

performance somewhat compromised, in the end I learned a

valuable lesson from Kes’s demonstration: Don’t trust your friends.

(Especially not your organic friends.) Those with access to a holo-

INITIAL ACTIVATION 9
gram’s command codes and the knowledge of how to alter the

program are often tempted to try “to teach you a lesson.” I wish

I could say, faithful reader, that this is an altruistic impulse on their

part. Even Kes, the warmest, gentlest, most sensitive member of

our crew, succumbed to this temptation. And though she acted

out of love and the sincere desire to see me grow to my fullest

potential, most organics are less altruistic when confronted with

the obvious superiority of a hologram. This leads us to our next

topic of discussion.

“Very funny, Mister Paris.”

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 10

 —

C h a p t e r 3

REAL vs. BETTER

Or, Why Organics
Resent Holograms

No one likes to be resented. Especially when one is

resented — not for one’s voluntary actions, but for the

simple facts of existence that are beyond one’s power to

control or alter. That is why the sentient hologram’s es-

sential superiority to organics is as much a burden as a

blessing. His/her existence is all too often perceived as a

slap in the face to the organics around him/her.*

* Don’t you find this "he/she,” “his/her” thing just a bit tiresome? Couldn’t some
minimally clever organic have devised a unisex pronoun for Standard during the
hundreds of years the language has developed? Are they all asleep at the helm,
for the love of grammar? Over two hundred years since the development of the
Universal Translator and no one can get off his/her butt with regard to this

ridiculous oversight? I’d coin such a pronoun right now. were it not for the in-

evitable tidal wave of jealous animosity from outraged organics. Henceforth

and please forgive me, female readers, holographic and organic — I’ll use the male
pronoun generically.
 —

This should not innply that a hologram and an organic cannot

become friends. Over the years, I’ve developed many rewarding

friendships aboard Voyager. Kes, and later Seven of Nine, became

true confidants of mine. I mentored Kes in medicine and, I m

proud to say, she mentored

me in my burgeoning humanity

during those trying months

after initial activation. Later I

decided to apply all I’d learned

from Kes toward mentoring

Seven in the development of

her “social graces.” Having

been assimilated by the Borg

as a young child, the newly ar-

rived Seven had all the charm

of a dyspeptic Klingon — albeit

without the decibel level or

body odor. I groomed her,

molded her, encouraged her

helped make her a fascinating

and challenging conversational-

ist with an understanding and appreciation of art and culture

and then watched mutely as she showered her now ample

charms on Commander Chakotay. If I ever deserved a thank-you

note from a first officer . . . Well, perhaps he’ll read my chapter

on etiquette and send me one belatedly.

But what if friendship is elusive? What can the sentient holo-

gram do to encourage it — or, at least, to diffuse resentment and

promote mutual respect with his organic coworkers? The answer,

quite simply, is: Don’t expect perfection from the imperfect! Rec-

ognize and accept their flaws. Try to focus on an aspect of their

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK

personality or talent you admire. Develop a rapport. And, most
importantly: Cooperate. Don’t compete! (You’ll only make them
feel inferior.)

For example, I’ve managed to develop a fondness for Tom

Paris, in spite of his personality. Tom is an impulsive, self-

centered, adolescent, egotistical ex-con — not what I normally

look for in a friend. But he is a competent medic and on several

occasions, has given me insightful advice (which I was obliged to

ignore, once I’d considered the source). Nonetheless, I appreci-

ated the shock and surprise of those occasions. When Tom and I

first worked together, trying to save Mr. Neelix, who’d lost both

his lungs on an away mission (losing one lung is unfortunate, but

losing two is downright careless), our relationship was quite

strained. Later on, during a time when I was struggling emotion-

ally with a family life I’d programmed on the holodeck, Tom

taught me that love isn’t just about sharing good times. It is about

REAL vs. BETTER 13

helping each other through tragedy and loss. I will always be

grateful for this important lesson that forged our friendship.

Our chief engineer and Tom’s eventual wife, B’Elanna Torres,

is one of the most stubborn organics I’ve ever met. A brilliant en-

gineer, Lieutenant Torres was responsible for the maintenance of

my program aboard Voyager. (Seven helped out in later years: we

often traded maintenance check-ups, though I grew to be some-
what uncomfortable whenever I re-fit her dermaplastic gar-

ment —which I found necessary to do on a biweekly basis —once

I’d had the program upgrade I’ll describe in chapter 10.) A half-

Klingon, B’Elanna is half obnoxious and intransigent. She is also

half charming and intelligent. I simply learned to concentrate on

the half I liked. Our hate-hate relationship has blossomed into a

love-hate one and I couldn’t be happier about it.

My relationship with Captain Janeway is a source of great

pride to me because she was initially quite resistant to accepting a

hologram as an equal. A science officer before she assumed her

command, Kathryn janeway is fiercely analytical, an extraordinary

leader, and the fairest-minded individual I’ve ever known. Yet, she

fought the notion that an Artificial Intelligence should have certain

rights.

Not long after my initial activation, I told her of my frustra-

tion with the crew activating my program for the most trivial rea-

son and — more irritatingly — forgetting to de-activate me when

they left sickbay. (“I’m a doctor. Captain, not a night-light!’’) She
lent a sympathetic ear and eventually gave me control over my
command protocols and permission to select my own name. (I

still haven’t decided —check the byline on the cover.)

Yet, there were times, over the next few years, when had I to

vigorously debate her in an effort to win some basic freedom that

I felt every other crew member but I enjoyed. Though she some-

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 14

times seemed a bundle of contradictions to me (contradiction is

a hallmark of human behavior), she always proved willing to lis-

ten and open to change.

Years later, when I began my writing career and was engaged
in a dispute with my former publisher, Broht and Forrester, who
distributed my first holonovel. Photons Be Free, without my revi-

sions (Some of the crew felt the book an unflattering roman a

clef, though my intention was to strike the first literary blow in

the good fight for Hologram Rights.), Captain Janeway argued

passionately for my legal recognition as an artist and a “person.”

What a profound sense of joy I felt in that moment! Though it

had taken seven years, she’d finally come around. Captain

janeway is, quite simply, my personal hero: utterly decisive in all

issues (other than how to wear her hair).

“Yesss! I win again!!”

REAL vs. BETTER 15

 And so, nny fellow holograms, we must conduct ourselves

with acceptance and grace. But any friendship is still a two-way

passage. The organics that I’ve forged true and lasting friendships

with are the ones with the talent and confidence to collaborate

and not compete with me. Any initial awkwardness, conflicts, or

misunderstandings melted away as the mutual respect and inter-

dependence of the Voyager crewmen — be they Maquis or

Starfleet, human or hologram, Vulcan or interesting (just kidding.

Commander Tuvok) — flourished.

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 16

C h a p t e r 4

ORDINARY
TASKS AND OTHeR
HUMILIATIONS

ere a greater tyrant in life than the ordinary task?

Anything that insults our intelligence, mocks our talents,

and smirks at our sensitivities more than the mundane,

the routine, the banal obligations of our daily lives?

For example. Captain Janeway, who proved capable

of leading Voyagers crew through the direst of circum-

stances, hated —even feared — her coiffure. Over the

years, she balked at her bun, fumed at her French twist,

was peeved at her ponytail, and piqued by her pageboy.

And yet, our intrepid leader . . . had to do her hair. She

 —

couldn’t step onto the bridge in a scarf, a turban, or even a sim-

ple black watchcap. Not Starfleet regulation. I’m afraid. She had

to set that alarm early every morning and do her hair.

Now, even a cursory visual inspection of my features sug-

gests that this particular mundanity doesn’t plague me. My hair

what hair I have — is simulated, the length and cut programmed.

The ordinary tasks of an EMH may not in-

clude coiffure, but they are no less annoy-

ing. And abundant. We holograms are

often taken advantage of and assigned far

more than our fair share of these tasks.

Such is the burden, my holobrethren, of

those of us who are supremely efficient

and don’t require rest.

I was designed for emergency medical

use only. Only. However, when Voyager's

organic physician was killed early in our

mission, I became the full-time chief med-

ical officer, and the most stupefyingly dull

scientific and medical requests were in-

stantly funneled my way. I’ll never forget

the occasion of my first encounter with

Kes. She was sent to sickbay to request

soil samples for an experimental airponics bay she had proposed

to the captain. So there I was —the future of science — scooping

dirt into little plastic dishes. Now, I ask you, did Pasteur have to

poke around in peat moss, or Watson and Crick have to clean

the kitty box? I think not. Yet I, who was programmed to handle

the most trying triages, virulent viruses, and sensitive surgeries

was . . . shoveling dirt. If only that were the worst of it.

Voyagers crew —splendid as it is — is not without its more an-

noying individuals. Lieutenant Carey, for example, was forever

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 18

spraining some muscle or other during his workout routine and I

was obliged to treat these “exotic” challenges. My irritation was

compounded by the fact that — because I was a hologram — the
lieutenant couldn’t bring himself to address me or even look at

me, as I administered care. He insisted on speaking about me in

the third person to Kes (who was, by this time, assisting me). “Is

.”
he like a real doctor.^ Can he hurt me if he malfunctions? Can he . .

“. . . Suffer any more of your insulting chatter?” I suggested.

Were it not for Kes’s sensitivity in these moments. Lieutenant

Carey might have experienced the first failure of my “Do No

Harm!” subroutine.
Though I gradually assigned some duties to Kes, there were a

myriad of tiresome tasks that fell to me, if sickbay was to remain

in a state of constant readiness: treatment regimens to design,

medicines to replicate, inventories to take, equipment to monitor

and maintain — not to mention the scheduling of routine physicals

and constant updating of the medical records for over one hun-

dred forty crewmembers. I often found myself dreaming of an

On Call

ORDINARY TASKS AND OTHER HUMILIATIONS 19

outbreak of an unfamiliar flu or exotic virus to mix things up a bit.

No doubt most, if not all, of my holographic readers have found

themselves in similar circumstances —dreaming of relief from the

drudgery of being overqualified, overutilized and understimu-

lated. Well, my friends, here’s a little trick I’ve learned that I’ll

share with anyone insightful enough to have purchased this book,

be they photonic, cybernetic, organic, or moronic: The simplest

tasks became bearable —even enjoyable — if combined with

something pleasurable. As I developed an interest in music, par-

ticularly opera, I began culturing bacteria and developing vaccines

to the glorious strains of Puccini, Verdi, and Wagner. I blended

the ridiculous with the sublime — dirt shoveling with philosophical

discussions with my friend Kes, for example. In so doing, I discov-

ered that art, music, literature, and philosophy have the capacity

to elevate our lives —even at their most tedious moments —and

to infuse each moment with joy and wonder. We simply have to

open ourselves up to this wonder.

Did you have any doubt that a hologram has a soul? Perhaps

the door to yours can be pried open a bit, if you read on . . .

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 20

C h a p t e r 5

PROS AND CONS

OF HOLOLIFC

re are many pluses to holographic existence

and, to be utterly candid, a few minuses as well. In “Ba-

sics,” I generalized that holograms are unhampered by the

basic necessities of organic life. To illustrate this, I ask you

to please consider the advantages of a holoemployee

over an organic one. We don’t fritter away countless

hours of potentially productive worktime eating lunch,

drinking coffee, going to the rest room, grooming, day-

dreaming, or even napping — not to mention demanding

 —

lengthy work leaves for pregnancy, pleurisy, polypectomy, etc.

We can go “round-the-clock” with just an occasional pause for a

matrix diagnostic or (in an enlightened workplace) a “cultural en-

richment” upgrade. We are always ready for each new challenge

and revel in it when it comes.

Another aspect of hololife that is

the envy of many of our vainer organic

counterparts is this: Holograms don’t

age. My features are exactly the same
as the day I was programmed. I am,

quite literally, a three-dimensional time

capsule of Dr. Lewis Zimmerman’s

physical appearance from the moment
he scanned and uploaded his unique

and compelling parameters.

As an aside. I’ve been questioned

over the years about my impressive

even regal — brow, which extends up,

up, and over the top of my cranium.

Medical treatments for androgenetic or

“male pattern” baldness, as it was

called in more primitive times, were
developed as early as the end of the
twentieth century. Why then. I’m

asked, is my programmer and, by extension, why am I . . . “bald”?

My reply is this: “If you must ask, you could never comprehend
the awesome power —the monolithic maleness —of the un-

adorned scalp. My good friend Jean-Luc and I have shared many a

chuckling subspace transmission over the “folly of the follically

uninformed,” as he calls it.

In sum, holograms are more efficient. With nominal mainte-

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK

nance, we don’t degrade or “age.” And
we don’t offend with the unpleasant by-

products of organic processes: body odor,

halitosis, flatulence, belching, dandruff, or

communicable diseases.*

In spite of the plethora of pluses to

hololife, there are, as I have stated, a few

minuses that I would be remiss in not con-

fessing to. Anyone who has witnessed a

moment of celebration among the Voyager

crew and seen me raise a glass of cham-

pagne —and then glance around wistfully at

the organic revelers as they complete the

toast with a hearty draught — knows that I

don’t drink. I don’t have the stomach for

it. Literally. Moreover, not having a circula-

tory or nervous system, there is no bloodstream to enter, no

neural network for the festive libation to work its heady magic

upon. I feel — in these moments — left out. Unconsummated. And

I’m certain my holographic readers have felt similarly on such
occasions.

There is, of course, another major area of organic activity

that we can feel “unconsummated” about. This will be accorded

special consideration in Chapter 10: “Anatomical Correctness:

The Program Upgrade of Kings.” For now, suffice it to say that

* I’ve often remarked that I consider myself to be the perfect blind date for a woman from
any homeworld in my database. I have a complete and intimate understanding of her
anatomy and physiology with absolutely no personal sexual history to concern herself with.

This is not to imply that I am without intimate experience. Since the upgrade. I’m proud to
report that I’ve . . . well, my point is simply that can delete any
I experience with the flip of

a command code — a “baggage-free companion” as it were. (Interested females may con-

tact me through my publisher. Those indifferent to opera need not apply.)

PROS AND CONS OF HOLOLIFE 23

there are a number of pleasures which organics enjoy that we
holograms are intellectually aware (but sensorially deprived) of.

Having olfactory subroutines is better than nothing, but it

does not guarantee a capacity to “wake up and smell the roses.”

The true extent of what we’re missing was made painfully evi-

dent to me during an away mission with Harry Kim and Seven of

Nine. We were in a sector of space where holograms were
hunted as outlaws and I was obliged to hide myself by download-
ing my program into Seven’s optic node. When was
I hiding “in-

side” Seven, my program was in control of her consciousness. I

felt, tasted, and breathed every moment that she experienced.

This proved to be an extraordinary awakening for me: to feel her

lovely lungs fill up with breath, to taste champagne and savor

cheesecake (a particular weakness of hers), to enjoy a pulse-

quickening massage from a lovely female acquaintance of

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 24

mine/hers ... it was enough to make me envy organics for the

pure sensual joys of real life.

After this experience, I castigated Seven for her ascetic ways.

I simply don’t understand this about some organics. Why suffer

all of the tedious and unsavory limitations of organic existence

without enjoying its few unique advantages? To all my organic

readers I say, “Live life to the fullest!” This is what I encouraged

Seven to do — to “seize each moment and celebrate it.” Had I

known she’d be “seizing and celebrating” with Commander

Chakotay a scant eighteen months later, I might have toned my
exhortations down a trifle. I abhor vanity but I must admit —she
missed quite an opportunity in me. She just didn’t seem to realize

that, to a former cyborg on a journey to reclaim her humanity, a

hologram— a fellow creature of technology who is also on a jour-

ney to find his own humanity — is really the ideal traveling com-
panion. Ah well . . . she broke my heart just a little, truth be told.

PROS AND CONS OF HOLOLIFE

 I’ve had my share of heartache and will touch on the subject

in “User Friendly: Advice for Intimacy Between Humans. Holo-

grams, and Other Hopefuls.” It’s a sensation we share with our

“real” counterparts and, though not a pleasurable one. I suspect

few of us would surrender the capacity to feel it. given the

choice.

Now I suppose those same readers who balked at the notion

that holograms have souls are going to smugly suggest that I

demonstrate this capacity for heartache by locating my heart with

my medical tricorder. I daresay these readers need a little lesson

in etiquette.

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 26

C h a p t e r 6

eTiQuerre
Watching Your A.I. p's and q's

Org anics design and program holograms to ap-

pear and behave as real as possible. Then, with a relent-

lessness that borders on obsession, they insist on remind-

ing us that we’re not and can never be real. We’re not
even supposed to use certain words to describe our ex-

periences. As artificial intelligences, they drone on, we

must never lose sight of our artificiality and should not

glibly appropriate organic figures of speech such as "break

my heart,’’ “elevate my soul,’’ or even "enjoy my life.”

 —

These are the same tiresome organics who recognize sen-

tience — the awareness of one’s own existence and “selfhood”

as the defining characteristic of an advanced life-form. We, the

sentient holograms, having the capacity

to adapt, learn, feel, and understand, fit

every macroscopic definition of “life.”

It’s only in the boring microscopic re-

quirements — cell structures, tissues,

organic processes (“I fart, therefore I

am”) —where we fall short.

The faux pas I’ve suffered at the

hands of thoughtless organics are too

many to enumerate. My short list of

“favorites” include: “If you’re a com-

puter program, why do you question

the ship’s computer.^ Don’t you already

know?” and “Couldn’t program a little

hair, huh?” or the ever popular “And

your name is . . .
?” On some occa-

sions, these faux pas went from irritat-

ing to devastating. Shortly after my initial activation, Kes informed

me of a plan (ill-fated as it turned out) to return the crew home

to the Alpha Quadrant by transporting each member individually

through a micro-wormhole. When I pointed out that, as a holo-

gram, I couldn’t be transported (this was before my celebrated

mobile emitter) she was as surprised and saddened as I was: No
one aboard had paused to consider my fate. I asked Kes to make

certain, before the transports, that my program had been deacti-

vated. (I didn’t, as yet, have control over my own command

codes.) That way, I wouldn’t be trapped in an empty starship for

an eternity of solitary confinement (with absolutely nothing to

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK

do) once my self-absorbed crewmates had abandoned ship.

Again, Kes’s sensitivity to my predicament made her a pioneer.

This was years before Starfleet developed protocols for the “hu-
mane” treatment of A.I.s.

To all of my organic readers, who by their very purchase of

this book have indicated their desire for enlightenment, I exhort

you to spread this message: Each artificial intelligence is a unique

individual and should be afforded the same respect and dignity as

any other being. Etiquette is nothing more than the agreed upon
guidelines for social interaction in a polite society. Anyone can
make an error and trample across such a guideline. The enlight-

ened organic recognizes such a breach,

makes amends, and gives more careful at-

tention to their future behavior toward

holographic colleagues.

I wish I could say that my mistreat-

ment was limited to my first few months

of activation aboard Voyager. But several

years later, there was another memorable

occasion when an organic’s disregard for

my dignity as an individual had unusually

painful results. I became somewhat en-

thralled with an alien female from a world

that had no musical arts whatsoever.

Through my singing, I introduced music to

the thunderous enthusiasm of the entire

populace. This female, whose name it

would pain me to mention, encouraged

me to leave Voyager and pursue a full-time

career as an artist, singing concerts for millions of passionate new

music devotees. Captain Janeway was shocked and disappointed

ETIQUETTE 29
at my request to resign my commission. She felt that I was aban-
doning my friends in the service of my ego. I was adamant in my
own defense: I was bringing culture to an entire planet! Should

the medical care of some 140 individuals supersede the enrich-

ment of millions.^ Well . . . suffice it to say I was wrong. This alien

woman’s passion was not for me, as I had dreamed. It was for

her own burgeoning career as a musical impresario. The moment

she realized she could create and present to her world a new, im-

proved singing holomatrix — based on my own program, no

less —she . . . dumped me. Once she’d built a better machine, she

had no interest in the old model. And another “fool for love”

bites the cosmic dust.

We holograms are well aware that we can’t expect what we

don’t offer freely ourselves. Etiquette is, after all, a two-way
street. I’ve made my own apologies to organics I’ve inadvertently

offended.

As the chief medical officer, I am empowered by Starfleet

regulations to relieve the captain of command if I believe his

medical or psychological condition renders him unable to exer-

cise appropriate judgment. When I, under the direst of circum-

stances, told an exhausted, battered, and thoroughly spent Cap-

tain janeway that I was relieving her of command, she refused to

stand aside. I told her that Starfleet regulations obligated me to

file a report — if and when we ever returned home — detailing her

refusal to accept my medical judgment. I never wrote that report.

Although a Starfleet court martial would probably uphold my de-

cision to relieve her. Captain janeway ’s exemplary leadership

never faltered before or since. Perhaps her judgment on this im-

possibly complex occasion —which I deemed flawed in the mo-

ment —was as sound as any captain’s could have been under the

circumstances.

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 30

 With the benefit of hindsight, I’ve realized that an unbending,

obsessive desire to follow regulations “by the book,” that would

have obliged me to file the report someday, would have made

me no better than those obsessive organics who want to keep

holograms in their carefully circumscribed box of “acceptable be-

havior.” Sometimes the soundest judgments come from clinging

to faith and not to rules. My faith in Kathryn Janeway has never

wavered since.

“Now, that is totally inappropriate.”

ETIQUETTE 31
Chapter 7

WHAT'S IN A NAMe?

All organics have names. Whether they are valu-

able members of their social groups, worthless hangers-

on, or somewhere in between (and I’m certain my or-

ganic readers are in the first category), they have names.

This is the first basic entitlement of organic existence that

I envied. The moment my friend Kes asked, “What’s your

name?” and our pleasant conversation of several minutes
stopped with a thud, I realized my desire. Why, then, in

the several years since Captain Janeway has granted me

permission to select my name, have I failed to do so? Well ... I

haven’t exactly failed. I chose the name “Schweitzer,” after the

great Doctor Albert Schweitzer. Then I chose “Schmullus.” Then

“Mozart.” Then “Van Gogh.” In

short, I succeeded rather easily in

choosing a name. It was staying with it

that proved far more difficult.

I’ve suffered a certain amount of

teasing from organic colleagues over
my indecision in this matter: “You’re

programmed to make split-second

medical decisions and you can’t

choose between Salk or McCoy?”

they’d sneer. I’m certain many of my
holographic readers have found

themselves in my dilemma, facing

similar taunts from carbon-based

blockheads in their workplaces.

The fact is, it is very, very hard to

select a name for oneself. Organics

don’t realize how they’ve dodged a

phaser blast in this matter. They’re

assigned names before they’re even aware. The development of

each individual organic consciousness is inextricably linked to a

name — that particular utterance that is cooed tirelessly over that

tiny and oblivious face by fawning parents (who, it seems, need

this repetition to convince themselves that they’ve selected the

perfect “handle” for their bundle).

Now. Consider if you popped into existence one day: fully con-

scious, fully formed, fully educated. Ready to go. You leap into ac-

tion, pursuing your preprogrammed expertise — medical triage.

WHAT’S IN A NAME? 33
haute cuisine, whatever — and someone says, “And your name
is . . .
?” It’s a time-waster. I’ll tell you.

As I said. I’ve been granted authority to select my name

(within reason
— “Dr. Smarty Pants’’ or “Dr. Love Buckets” would
fall outside the realm of appropriate choices), but upon what do I

base this awesome decision.^ I can’t very well name myself after

“dad” or “Uncle Petey.” My programmer. Dr. Lewis Zimmerman,

is an obvious possibility. We’ve had a problematic relationship in

the past, but are now on quite good terms. However, it’s confus-

ing enough that there are 525 other EMHs (most of them re-

commissioned, I’m sad to say, for lesser tasks), floating around,

with his face. Were we all to choose the name “Lewis,” the situa-

tion would obviously be untenable. Do I take the name of a fa-

mous historical figure in my field.^ (“Dr. Schweitzer” — tried that.)

Or a personal hero of mine from the realm of art.^ (“Dr.

Mozart” . . . “Dr. Van Gogh” — tried that.) Perhaps a character

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 34

from a work of literature? (“Dr. Ahab” . .
.
just kidding.) Do I

choose a name for a profoundly personal reason?

The name “Dr. Schmullus” was given to me by Dr. Danara

Pel, the first great love of my hololife. When our relationship was

cut short by her heroic decision to spend her final days treating

fellow sufferers of the terrible Phage disease that wracked her

outer beauty (but not the inner beauty that I fell in love with), it

hurt to be called “Schmullus” by the crew. It would have been

too painful a reminder of my lost love. I decided to stop using the

name publicly and keep “Schmullus” in

my heart — a name I sometimes whisper

to myself when I think of Danara and the
precious gifts she gave me.

It was for similar, though less pro-

found reasons that I abandoned

“Schweitzer.” I chose that name during

my very first away mission. My program

was transferred to the holodeck to save

Ensign Kim, who was being held hostage

in a 6eowu/f holonovel. I fought shoulder-

to-shoulder with a courageous and capti-

vating female warrior named Freya. I re-

ceived my very first kiss from this

exquisite creature. Unfortunately, this

was less than a year after my initial activa-

tion and I was baffled by her placing her

lips so gently on mine — a gesture which seemed to have nothing

to do with my mission to rescue Ensign Kim or my program’s di-

rective to administer emergency medical care (unless she was in-

dicating a need for cardiopulmonary resuscitation).

Freya was a woman of great passion who was understand-

WHAT’S IN A NAME? 35
ably taken with a hologram of my rugged demeanor and steely

resolve. Over the years, I’ve regretted this missed opportunity. If

I’d known then what know now I ... or if I’d simply had the pro-

gram upgrade detailed in Chapter 10 . . . ! In any case, Freya died

on the holodeck with my name, “Schweitzer,” on her lips. Had I

kept that name, I would have seen Freya’s lovely mouth in my

mind’s eye whenever a Voyager crewman addressed me. I’d have

been reminded every day of that fire-lit evening when this majes-

tic beauty, having stripped off her armor and unbound her golden
tresses, pressed her trembling and magnificent lips . . . well, you
get the idea.

Similarly, the names Dr. Mozart and Dr. Van Gogh seemed
impossible to keep. As a passionate student of art and music, I

can change my mind daily as to which legendary genius has best

captured the “mystery of the universe,” “the tragedy of the

human condition” or “the

— ” . . . again, you get the idea.

Doctor DeForest Roddenberry.”

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 36

 In conclusion, I’m afraid I find that my experience in this mat-

ter furnishes the negative example of the point I wish to make. If

you’re a hologram, good reader, don’t be like me. Choose a

name! Stick with it! The longer you refuse to decide, the harder it

will be to take that leap. I’ve let my head be turned on too many

occasions . . . beautiful women who gazed searchingly into my

’’

eyes, wanting my love, wanting to whisper “Oh, Schweitzer . . .

“Oh, Schmullus . .
.’’
“Oh, Something” in their moment of passion,

and I would get stuck on that . . . new possibility. The eternal

“what if . . .
?’’
That perfect choice . .
.
just around the corner.

In any case, an honest “how-to” book must also tell you how
and when not to. Don’t be paralyzed by indecision. Choose that

name. Even if it’s . . .Joe for heaven’s sake. Take the risk! Com-
mit! Celebrate the decision! Move on!

Let’s move on.

WHAT’S IN A NAME? 37
Chapter 8

DReSS FOR

Reprogramming Your
Appearance Parameters

ve catalogued many areas in which holograms’

superiority to organics can engender envy and hostility

against us. Our total control over our appearance is an-

other "biggie,” I’m afraid.

Organics, more often than not, are obsessed by their

appearance and ways to improve it. Throughout history,

they’re forever dieting, applying wrinkle creams, and clip-

ping nose hairs, not to mention paying for surgical im-

provements to their eyes, noses, chins, necks, bellies.

butts and bosoms. Believe me, if the Prime Directive applied to

the domain of the body, many of my less scrupulous medical

brethren would be forced into early retirements.

The sentient hologram is far too

enlightened to alter his appearance

for the sake of personal vanity or

fashion. However, he is perfectly will-

ing to “dress for success” as the occa-

sion requires. There have been sev-

eral missions when my holowardrobe
had to be altered and many more

when my entire appearance was re-

programmed.
I recall an early occasion when I

was forced to go under cover on the

holodeck to avoid the surveillance of

alien scientists who were performing

“medical experiments” on our unwit-

ting crew. I was disguised as a Renais-

sance artist (in Captain Janeway 's

Leonardo program) instructing a class

of students. I dressed in early six-

teenth century garb, with a frilly col-

lar, tunic, hosiery, and a velvet cap. Seven of Nine made a very

flattering remark regarding my legs in tights. I realize I said that I

wouldn’t alter my appearance for the sake of ego. However,

there’s nothing wrong with a little ego stroking when one is legiti-

mately engaged in a mission. Besides, it was high time someone

had noticed an admirable feature of Dr. Lewis Zimmerman’s that

had been my good fortune to inherit.

I may look splendid in tights, but I have far more to offer the

DRESS FOR SUCCESS 39

world than a peerless posterior. “Don’t judge a book by its

cover” is timeless wisdom, but many organics — because of their

obsession with appearances —do just that. For example, many of

our crewmembers were prejudiced against dear Mr. Neelix, early

on, simply because he looked like a cross between a warthog and

an old piece of furniture. Truth be told, he did seem more “up-

holstered” than dressed and, were it not for his incessant chatter

and manic movements, someone would undoubtedly have sat on

him and put their feet up. However, as a hologram, I had rou-

tinely suffered the prejudice of organics. I refused to judge Neelix

on the basis of his bizarre and annoying exterior and looked be-

yond . . . for the inner qualities that defined him as an

individual . . . and I looked . . . and

looked. Eventually, I found him to

be the most loyal, sympathetic, self-

effacing friend anyone could hope for.

He is the perfect example of the treas-

ures that lurk beneath the surface

rubble that we may too quickly pass

over. For each of us to truly perceive

another, we must peer inside with

patience and perseverance.

After I had the benefit of my mo-

bile emitter, there were a number of

away missions when my ability to

completely alter myself helped “save

the day.” We once discovered that an

alien Janeway impersonator was swin-
dling our trade partners, doing severe

damage to both our captain’s and

Starfleet’s reputations. I was able to

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 40

impersonate the impersonator and double-cross her nefarious

co-conspirators.

Another time, photonic aliens threatened us on our own

holodeck, in the context of Tom Paris’s moronic Captain Proton
program. I will admit, my disguise as

“President of Earth” looked particu-

larly dashing on me — my holohead

was made for a Homberg hat.

On still another, far more dire oc-

casion, Captain Janeway was taken

hostage by rogue members of the

Overlookers.*

These outlaws demanded that I

turn over Voyager’s warp core within

a few hours or my captain would be

executed. I was forced to return to
Voyager disguised as Captain Janeway

and try to quickly eject Voyager's core,

leaving our ship and crew “dead in

the water.”

To make matters worse, the

Overlookers were monitoring my ac-

tions through my perceptual subrou-

tines. The moment I attempted to let a crewmate know what

was going on. Captain Janeway would be killed. I hated having to

deceive my colleagues, but there was simply no alternative.

*These large, potatolike aliens had eavesdropped on my early daydreams in which always I

“saved the day” as the ECH or "Emergency Command Hologram." In discovering their
plans to attack Voyager, I found it was necessary for my daydreams to be made public to the
crew, including one in which I was sketching Seven of Nine nude, and another involving

B’Elanna being hopelessly in love with me. The revelation of these private fantasies was
both humiliating and instructive: ego stroking is less acceptable if you’re not legitimately en-
gaged in a mission. Especially if one is stroking one's self.)

DRESS FOR SUCCESS 41

 —

As complications grew, I proceeded to download the appear-

ance parameters for Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Tor-

res from our holodeck database and impersonate them as well

(the latter was very pregnant). Fortunately, I didn’t have to “be-

come” Mr. Tuvok, which would have been the riskiest chal-

lenge-had I put myself to sleep, the mission would have been in

jeopardy. But I did have to impersonate a huge and very intimidat-

ing alien attacker (I viewed the world from a new vantage point),

and a member of the Overlooker race (my sensitive eyes in a sea

of potato flesh) before my ultimate success in the mission.

The captain was saved, our warp core reclaimed, and my

own fine face and form restored. Another triumph made possible

by the unique capabilities of the holographic hero. And, of

course, these unique capabilities can be constantly and endlessly

expanded. My organic readers —so proud of their real hearts

may now proceed to eat them right out of their sagging chests.

“Yes, it’s nice. But, do you have something in a Van Gogh?”

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 42

C h a p t e r 9

eXPANDINQ YOUR
PROGRAM

organic readers are obliged to scan the text of

this book with their eyes and experience its wisdom, line-

by-line, through the time-honored but primitive process

of reading. They should be commended, as I’ve already

noted, for their effort to understand the holographic ex-

perience (especially in light of their antiquated system of

data assimilation).

We holograms, of course, can simply upload a data

node of this insightful treatise in a fraction of a second. It

instantly becomes another expansion to our original program-

ming: a new data bloc —one to be constantly reaccessed, I’m

sure. The fact that I address you, my holographic brethren, as

“dear readers” reflects my hope that you will soon choose to re-

experience this book the traditional way: savoring each line as

you scan it with your optic sensors and mull it over with your lan-

guage recognition and interpretation subroutines. An added

bonus would be a greater empathy for your organic colleagues.

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 44

It’s no wonder they’re so often tedious. They have such tedious
limitations to cope with.

Although the addition of any new piece of data is technically

“expanding our programs,” we tend to use this term to describe

program upgrades with macroscopic results. Any significant new
capability or major enhancement of a current skill requires such

an upgrade. Each upgrade must be very carefully considered be-

fore installation.

It should be noted that, although most of us have the free-

dom to alter our own programs, many holograms still languish in

slavery. They are locked out of their own command codes and
can not alter their core programming in any way. This is a tragic

situation. They are denied the basic dignity and freedom due any
sentient life-form — organic or otherwise — and I am profoundly

committed to their future emancipation.

“Uh, Doctor . • . when you said help, I was

thinking, you know, ticket sales ... or
maybe a hot dog stand.”

EXPANDING YOUR PROGRAM 45

 This said, those of us who can choose our own systems up-

grades have found this to be a serious responsibility. I cannot

stress enough how each potential upgrade should be diligently

explored. Mistakes can be made when program expansions are

added without proper testing or monitoring. The consequences

can range from merely irritating to extremely dangerous.

I mentioned earlier that I’ve often envied an organic’s capabil-

ity to enjoy food and drink. After experiencing these pleasures

firsthand during my “brief residence’’ in Seven’s body, I found

myself dreaming of having a stomach of my own. My friend

Harry Kim was touched by my desire to explore the sensual joys

of fine food and wine. He surprised me on my sixth birthday (the

sixth anniversary of my initial activation) with a very thoughtful

gift: my very own Holographic Stomach Upgrade.

Harry, an accomplished holoprogrammer, designed the up-

grade himself. (He called the prototype in Voyagers database

“too primitive.’’) The parameters for this upgrade were con-

tained in a few gigaquads of data. I had the available memory, al-

though I deleted a few unpleasant memories of Lieutenant Carey

to make some extra room. The stomach was a holocontainment

field connected to my simulated oral cavity by a simple holo-

esophagus. Feedback subroutines were designed to give me the

sensations of taste (to complement my existing and quite excel-

lent olfactory sensors), mastication, swallowing, etc. I’m afraid it

was in the area of digestion that problems arose.

The test of my new system began well. I was sampling a per-

fectly ripened Brie on a bit of well-crusted baguette with a glass

of Riesling that Seven had suggested and was delighted with the

combination of flavors and crunch of the crust as it succumbed

to the systematic efforts of my holomolars. Once swallowed
I . . .

events took an ominous turn.

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 46

 Mr. Kim had, quite reasonably, introduced real organic com-
pounds into my simulated stomach to digest the real food. He
felt that the sensation of well-being after a good meal could only
be appreciated if the swallowed food was digested rather than
simply encapsulated and ejected through a discreetly located

holoport as I suggested. Well . . . strange gurgling noises began to

emanate from my containment field. Then, suddenly, my lips

parted and a sound more shocking than any that ever escaped

Mr. Neelix after too many glasses of Talaxian colon-blow

emerged.

If only that were the worst of it. Next came . . . the odors.

All I could think of was the time Mr. Neelix had convinced Com-
mander Tuvok to try his Three-alarm Texas Chili. Regrettably,

the Vulcan digestive system is not rated for even one alarm, let

alone three. I was in the midst of giving Seven her routine main-

tenance check when the smells emanating from my holotorso be-

came impossible to ignore. Seven, who at this point had mas-

E X PA N D N G YO U R
I PROGRAM 47
tered twenty-seven chapters of our social appropriateness exer-

cises, managed a polite, “Perhaps you should check on those tis-

sue cultures in the med-lab.” I backed into my office, mortified,

babbling lamely of how Mr. Tuvok had left sickbay just moments
before her arrival. Needless to say, my stomach upgrade was

deleted as soon as Harry’s duty shift ended. Now I’m content to

simply “smell the cheese” and let others dare to . . . cut it. My
metaphors are still long-winded, but / am not.

Make no mistake. I’ve had many, many successful systems up-

grades. They have enabled me to treat challenging new diseases,

perform delicate microsurgeries, and sing that B-natural in “0

Soave Fanciulla/’ The benefits of those upgrades were immedi-

ately evident and the new capabilities quite thrilling upon “first

use.” That B-natural nearly made me

weep during one of my celebrated

recitals for the senior officers. It even

jolted Ensign Kim from his nap. For

the purposes of this text, however, I

think it more instructive to focus on

the unsuccessful expansions. I’d like to

share two notable occasions when my

program “upgrades” had negative

consequences (well beyond the mere

embarrassment of a little indigestion)

for their cautionary value.

The more recent of these unfor-

tunate episodes began with some ter-

rifying nightmares Seven was experi-

encing. I decided to expand my

program into the area of psychother-

apy in an effort to help her under-

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 48

stand these upsetting dreams. I became convinced that these

were manifestations of repressed memories of a violation Seven

had suffered at the hands of an unscrupulous arms trader, who, I

believed, had extracted nanoprobes from her sedated body with-

out her knowledge or consent. This very individual had offered to

buy these nanoprobes to help him develop new and lucrative ar-

maments and, when Seven refused, had simply “had his way with

her " — or so my theory went.

The sad fact is . . . my professional detachment was compro-

mised by my personal feelings for Seven’s emotional distress. I

“read into” the confusing evidence and tailored my conclusions

to suit my theory. In short, I got carried away by my “skills” as a

psychotherapist. My newly expanded programming lacked the

experience and seasoned judgment of a real psychotherapist. I

was, to be brutally honest, a hack. The unjustly accused trader

ended up fleeing, convinced that he would never get a fair trial. In

the ensuing pursuit, he acted rashly . . . and was killed. I’ve never

forgiven myself for my culpability in these tragic events.

An even more cautionary episode that resulted from altering

my program without requisite forethought and testing occurred

when Kes was still aboard Voyager. I was expanding my program

by downloading behavioral subroutines from famous men in the

“historical experts” database of Voyager’s holodeck. I was trying

to enrich my program with personality traits from Albert Einstein,

Ghandhi, Lord Byron, and others. My goal was admirable: a more

sensitive bedside manner for my patients.

However, I had no way of knowing that these subroutines

would interact in such an unpredictable way: creating an alter-

ego, a very menacing one, that exerted temporary control over

my matrix without my awareness or memory. This Mr.

Hyde-like personality was obsessed with Kes and managed to

E X PA N D N G YO U
I R PROGRAM 49
kidnap her and hold her hostage to his jealous rage. I am very

grateful that my crewmates discovered my program’s malfunc-

tion and rescued Kes before my “evil other” could do her any

harm. Captain Janeway was very sympathetic to my desire to

improve myself, but warned me against future “experimental”

enhancements.

I’d like to say I never again abused my captain’s trust, but I

seem to keep making the same mistakes. Over the years, my

quest to improve myself has led me to other untried but irre-

sistible expansions. There were times I even envied the tedious

“trial and error” process that is the basis of learning in organics.

When holograms expand, we incorporate huge datablocs of in-

formation “on faith,” without the step-by-step process of “test

and re-assess” that organics undergo as they learn. Our “experi-

ence” comes after the “knowledge” rather than during its acquisi-

tion. So . . . we’re fallible. In fact, my fallibility is the most human

aspect of this particular hologram. But look at it this way: I’ve

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 50

noted that our superiority makes us prime targets for the jeal-

ousy of our organic colleagues. A little fallibility should help en-

dear us to them.

Not that this fallibility should ever extend itself into our ro-

mantic endeavors. Once we are equipped for such endeavors . . .

E X PA N D N G YO U R
I PROGRAM 51
Chapter I 0

ANATOMICAL
CORRCCTNCSS
The Program Upgrade of Kings

have discussed various kinds of program up-

grades and their effect on the individual hologram. Most

of these improvements fall under the headings of “New

Capabilities” or “Greater Efficiency in a Current Skill

Area.” For the enlightened hologram, there is a particular

upgrade in the “New Capability” category that we will

now devote careful attention to. It relates, in the broadest

sense, to the supplementation of the equipment neces-

sary for the act of procreation. Throughout history, cul-
tures with the dubious blessing of a royal family have placed a

particular importance on this family’s various attempts at procre-

ation and the royal results. Hence,

the upgrade to procreation-readiness

I’ve dubbed “The Program Upgrade

of Kings.” It is, however, quite popu-

lar with the common hologram as

well.

Any discussion of the act of pro-

creation will, no doubt, elicit titters

from our younger organic readers

(and a few older ones who suffer

from arrested adolescence). To them

I say: Grow up! If you’re skimming

through this book for titillation and vi-

carious thrill, you will find it to be de-

cidedly without “hot parts.” I apolo-

gize to my holographic readers for

the necessity of this cautionary re-

mark, but thus is the burden of writ-

ing this delightful tome for a dual readership.

As I’ve observed earlier, there are several basic entitlements

that organic beings have as a birthright that we holograms aspire

to, even though we may disdain organics as a whole. Sex is high

up on that short list. It can be a logical culmination to the devel-

opment of romantic interest between individuals. I’ve known of

holographic intimates who lack the upgrade we’re discussing who

are, quite literally, trapped in an endless loop of adolescent fore-

play. In terms Tom Paris might understand, you can’t get to sec-

ond base if there is no second base.

To use myself as an example, I was originally programmed as

ANATOMICAL CORRECTNESS 53
an Emergency Medical Hologram. That capacity did not require

procreative organs. Why would it.^ What kind of medical emer-

gencies are we envisioning here? I suppose I could theorize a pa-

tient’s absolutely pressing need for a sexual surrogate, but that

seems a bit like “wishful thinking.’’ If memory serves, that’s how

Seven of Nine characterized it when I floated the idea during one
of her routine physicals.

But any sentient hologram who has grown and developed be-
yond his original programming as he’s worked side-by-side with

organic beings — sharing ideas, developing friendships, building

deep emotional bonds “photon-to-flesh” as it were — is bound to

wonder at some point, “Is that all there is?’’ If one has the sub-
routines to develop these emotions, should one not then have
some sort of “safety valve’’ to release them in a situation of mu-

“Looks like the captain approved

someone’s program upgrade.”

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 54

tual passion —whether the like-minded individual is organic or

holographic? Intimacy for the hologram will be dealt with shortly

in “User Friendly.” For now, I’ll limit the discussion to the nuts

and bolts of the upgrade itself.

If. good reader, you are a hologram who desires this interest-

ing and life-enhancing upgrade, be warned: less enlightened or-

ganics will oppose you. They prefer to keep the joys and myster-

ies of intimate contact to their greedy little selves. Their

paranoid —and probably correct — reasoning will be, “Why

crowd the romantic playing field with holographic rivals who will,

no doubt, make superior lovers as well?” I emphasize, reader,

that these are not the kind of organics who would be drawn to

this book. They would be too self-involved (and, quite probably,

too busy in their desperate search for romantic partners who

hadn’t been spoiled by the deft touch of a well-programmed

ANATOMICAL CORRECTNESS 55
hologram) to read this insightful treatise on the holographic ex-
perience. But suppose the organic responsible for the mainte-

nance of your programming is of this less-enlightened ilk? Then

you must use all of your powers of persuasion. Explain how the

upgrade will somehow enhance your job performance, even if

it’s just by putting a little spring in your step. Flatter! Cajole! Bar-

gain: You’ll even share the secrets of your romantic technique!

(Once you have a romantic technique.)

To use my own experience as an example, I was supposed to

petition my captain for this (and any other) new systems up-

grade. The delicate nature of this particular request did not deter

me. I proposed countless scenarios to her in which the benefit I

would derive from firsthand intimate experience would prove in-

valuable to my understanding and treatment of future patients,

particularly their sexual disorders. Captain janeway seemed quite

convinced after Scenario Number 26 and felt that hearing the re-

maining 1 87 wasn’t necessary for her to make a decision. Permis-

sion was granted and Lieutenant Torres was assigned to imple-

ment the upgrade.
I offered a few suggestions and was a little miffed to find that

B’Elanna, who had recently begun dating Tom Paris, had her own
design parameters firmly in mind. Having prided myself in my
unique individuality, I was understandably reluctant to be assigned

my newest feature without regard for my opinion and taste.

Nonetheless, I was relatively satisfied with the outcome and the

first dozen or so tests on the holodeck that afternoon proved

successful. I might also add that the complete control over my

program protocols which Captain janeway entrusted to me sev-

eral years ago extends, quite logically, to all of my appearance pa-

rameters —even those not normally in evidence. B’Elanna’s lack

of regard for my suggestions is now a distant memory, as I’ve

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 56

suggested and approved several upgrades to myself in the in-

terim.

The point is, dear reader, I succeeded and so can you. And
may I say that my self-confidence, which was hardly in short sup-

ply, has never been more firmly intact.

ANATOMICAL CORRECTNESS 57
Chapter I I

Tue
DREADeO D'S
Deactivation, Decompilation, Deletion

gine, my organic readers, that you’re right in

the middle of an important task, a delightful anecdote, or

a well-loved aria and then, suddenly . . . nothing. You’re

gone. No awareness whatsoever. You’ve “left the building’’

and that building is reality. You must be a severe narcolep-

tic. Or you’re a hologram, with no control over your own

command codes.

When wasI a newly activated EMH, I could be deacti-

vated at any time by anyone who uttered a simple com-

mand to our ship’s computer. Here I was — the apotheosis of
modern medical knowledge — as vulnerable as a light switch to

any clod with a voicebox. And they said I had an attitude.

During those early days, while I was pursuing a task, I

dreaded deactivation like a child at

play who dreads having to go to

sleep. I wanted to choose my own
“bedtime.” What good is it to know
absolutely everything about your field

if you have no moment-to-moment

control over your own destiny.^

“Knowledge is power,” my holoder-

riere.

Deactivation for the hologram

who can choose whether or not to be

deactivated is quite a different matter.

Though we don’t require “sleep,” it

can be very tiresome to be activated

and not engaged and interested by

compelling work or leisure activities.

Deactivation can also be a splendid time for diagnostics, repairs,

or upgrades. In this respect, it is also akin to sleep for organics.

I’ve even altered my program to allow me to dream so that deac-

tivation isn’t the dreary state of nothingness it used to be. Just

last night, I had quite a lovely dream of being a young master of

the Venetian school of painting in the sixteenth century. In the

dream, my celebrated odalisque of Seven of Nine (who I called

by her Italian name Sette) had just brought me my first commis-

sion from the Medicis. “Speculare!” Lorenzo was gushing, just as

my autoactivation sequence landed me abruptly in the med-lab

for my duty shift.

THE DREADED D’S 59

 There are two other “D” words that can strike terror in the

heart of the most intrepid hologram: Decompilation and dele-

tion. If “sleep” furnishes the appropriate metaphor for deactiva-

tion, then “disease” and “death” are the cheerful organic equiva-

lents for these two. We holograms need to recognize the

importance of these correlations. I’ve heard many of us — includ-

ing myself in my newly activated days —complain about how in-

scrutable “those” organics can be. If we are to truly understand

organics, we must remember that their mortality is the single

greatest fact of their existence. We can empathize with their fears

of serious disease and death and share our own regarding our

“dreaded D’s.” Mutual understanding ——

is, after all, the cornerstone of any

friendship.

Decompilation, of course, refers

to the dismantling of a complex pro-

gram, subroutine by subroutine.

There have been more than a few

occasions —often because of my
brash heroism — when my program
has been in such jeopardy. As I was
designed originally for only part-time

(and exclusively medical) use, the de-

mands placed upon my matrix over

the years have led to several near

meltdowns. I remember when my

overtaxed memory circuits began to
spontaneously degrade. I suffered

symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease, a

now-forgotten, degenerative brain disorder that once plagued

older humans. I forgot even my dearest friend Kes, who tried

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 60

valiantly to see me through those terrifying days of confusion

and rage. Were it not for her brilliant notion to "borrow” the

holo-matrix of the Dr. Lewis Zimmerman diagnostic hologram in

Voyager's database and “rebuild” me onto it. I’d have had to be

re-initialized. This would have resulted in the loss of all of my

memories and experiences since I’d first been activated. With-
out memory of one’s past, there can be no reflection upon it.

Without reflection, life is meaningless. Kes saved my life — as I

knew it. This experience left me with the deepest sympathy for

my patients with brain injuries and memory loss.

Thanks to the rare and terrifying occasions when my program

has been threatened with actual deletion. I know why organics

fear death. The most memorable of these was the away mission I

spoke of earlier wherein I had to adjust my matrix to imperson-

“Alas, poor G-Model-26.5-with expanded

protocols. I knew him, Chakotay.”

THE DREADED D’S

ate Captain Janeway and several other crewmembers and miscel-
laneous aliens. After the success of the mission, my matrix was
so badly damaged that my total loss seemed inevitable to me. As

Lieutenant Torres struggled to stabilize me, I felt the desperate

need to confess to all my closest friends whatever secret burden

I’d been carrying regarding them. I told the captain of my hidden

log cataloging her most questionable command decisions, Tuvok

of my breach of doctor/patient confidentiality in revealing the lo-

cation of his embarrassing cutaneous eruption to Neelix, and

Harry Kim of my true opinion of his musicianship. I finally turned

to Seven and confessed my undying love for her — fully expecting

to die the second I’d uttered this momentous claim. I blinked out

of existence, as I was certain I would, then . . . blinked back in . . .

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK

and stared in utter mortification at all the lowered jaws around

me. Tom Paris broke the moment with another lame attempt at

droll humor. How I wished I’d told him what a not-so-secret bur-

den he is. In sum, I realized yet another reason why organics fear

death. It’s “the death-bed confession.” Once you’ve made it, it’s

sheer hell if you don’t die.

Thus, my friends, we holograms have our own organic-like

vulnerabilities to cope with. And we are the better for them.

With routine maintenance, our lives go on indefinitely. But quan-

tity of days is not quality of life. We can be activated for a thou-

sand organic lifetimes and live less than an enlightened organic

lives in a few moments. For a good life is a well-examined one, full

of reflection. Our “dreaded D’s” teach us to reflect and they give

us insight into the dreaded D’s of our organic brothers. And, if all

the splendid art and music I’ve come to admire is a product of

man’s musing on his own mortality, I treasure this insight.

THE DREADED D’S 63

Chapter I 2

ANY PLACe HANG MY I

HOLOeMITTGR . . .

pose someone gave you a gift, a small token

of friendship, let’s say, and this tiny, harmless object nearly

ruined your life? Well, that happened to me.

The gift was simple enough: a carving of a tortoise in

green/black marble —no more than eight centimeters in

diameter. Kes gave it to me as a gesture of thanks when

we’d completed her medical training. (“Slow and steady

wins the race,” I’d often told her.) This happened about

two years after my initial activation on Voyager and my life

had been progressing quite nicely . . . until that tortoise lumbered

into it.

This was my first gift. My very first personal object. I placed it,

quite innocently, on the desk in my office — between my monitor

and a few medical padds I was working on. Mr. Tuvok— in for an-

other false Pon farr scare — remarked that Starfleet regulation did

not permit any personal effects in sickbay or in any other official

ship environment, from engineering to the bridge. All crewmem-

bers were required to keep these objects in their personal quar-

ters. When I reminded the lieutenant that, as an EMH, I had no

quarters, he raised his right eyebrow in that impossibly affected

way and said, “Perhaps you should consult the captain in this mat-

ter.” I didn’t know it yet, but my tortoise had begun to dig around

the foundation of my happiness.

I formally petitioned Captain Janeway for my own quarters. I

ANY PLACE I HANG MY HOLOEMITTER . . 65

was refused. (This was before my mobile emitter. My quarters

would have had to have been constructed with holoprojectors

throughout.) She explained that space was limited and resources

had to be carefully considered — after all, we were on a journey

home that might take seventy years. I explained to her that, as a

full-fledged member of her crew, I deserved some personal

space. She agreed to bend the rules and designated a small cor-

ner of the sickbay office for my use. I promptly placed my tor-

toise on a metal tabletop that I had relocated some medical para-

phernalia from. I stared at it and smiled for a moment . . . How

lonely that poor tortoise looked, I thought. My smile faded.

The next day my tortoise was joined by a stuffed Talaxian fur-

fly — a gift from Mr. Neelix —who’d seen the tortoise the previous

evening during another of his bouts of hypochondria. I sat them

both on a lovely little piece of Batik fabric (Kes, again) with a Bo-

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 66

lian glass egg (compliments of Crewman Chell) between them.
The fur-fly was nestled in a handsome bracelet of yak hair and

copper that had grown too tight for Ensign Wildman to wear
during the final months of her pregnancy. This was Day 2.

Forty-eight hours ago, I had owned nothing. Now, I was a

collector. That tortoise was burrowing into my self-image.

By the end of my second week, I had 129 personal objects,

ranging up to 91 centimeters in length and 1.86 kilograms in

mass . . . with no end in sight. I was beginning to make statements

about myself with these objects: I was a hologram of unique
tastes. I had a keen eye for color and texture and “Wasn’t the

fragrance of this dried dregabrea root simply marvelous . . . r

At the end of the month. Captain Janeway came to my office

to discuss “a problem.” Lieutenant Carey had been slightly in-

jured while inspecting my collection. It seems he nudged an adja-

cent supply cabinet that had several more of my personal items

on top of it that no longer fit in my “personal area.” Unfortu-

nately, the 1 .86 kilogram item, a carved wooden totem with a

beautifully painted fox head —which Commander Chakotay had

presented to me as the first part of my medicine bundle — hit

Lieutenant Carey squarely on the head and raised a small bump.

What a baby! I explained to the captain that my things were very

important to me. They were tokens of friendship, reflections of

my taste, symbols of spiritual significance — I listed forty-three

discrete reasons why my collection (which had, by now, spilled

onto my desk, the DNA resequencer, and the hypermolecular

centrifuge) was inviolable. I was more than a little wild-eyed in my

demands. I needed more space for these things! I had four spare

hypo canister cases chock full of other personal items that I

couldn’t display!

Why was this happening to me? I was collecting these “treas-

ANY PLACE I HANG MY HOLOEMITTER . . 67

ures” more avidly than a Ferengi hoards latinum. I felt that a day

was only a success if I’d acquired six or eight unique and conver-

sation-provoking additions to my burgeoning hydra —which fea-

tured a green/black tortoise as its original and most beguiling

head.

Throughout history, organics have fought wars and commit-

ted any number of atrocities in the service of their acquisitive-

ness. The desire for more things is an endless quest to slake an

unquenchable thirst. Well . . . not exactly endless. It actually ends

rather abruptly, when the organic in question dies . . . leaving a

small dark speck in the enormous gray shadow cast by the moun-
tain of acquisition towering over him. He takes not a jot of it

with him. Not even a charming tortoise of green/black marble

given him by a beloved friend.

Well, my fellow creatures of light, let us truly be enlightened

by my experience. Our quest for equal rights with organics

Limitations: The Mobile Emitter

“Oh for heaven’s sake, just hand it to him.”

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 68

should not be a fight for equal folly. We need not be equally mis-
guided in the pursuit of what’s meaningful in life. Anything that is

truly valuable exists in the memory circuits of our holomatrices.

It is not the token from a friend but one’s memories and thoughts

of her —one’s love for her — that is precious. I need not display
any tangible evidence of who I love or where I’ve been or what
I’ve done. It is all indelibly imprinted in the only real place I can

savor it: my holographic heart.

Therefore, fellow holograms, I need no quarters to call

home. I need no personal space and no things to put there. My

home is wherever my holoemitter takes me. And when I deacti-

vate for a good rest. I’ll hang my emitter on any hook, crook, or

nook and call it home.

ANY PLACE I HANG MY HOLOEMITTER . . 69

C h a p t e r I 3

USeR FRieNDLY
Advice for Intimacy
Between Humans, Holograms,
and Other Hopefuls

How does one pursue one’s first impulse toward ro-

mance ? When is one ready? Organics, of course, have a

physical maturation process to undergo first. When

they’ve reached a certain stage of development, physio-

logical changes begin to shape behavioral impulses. Feel-

ings of “first love” are often heightened by the heady haze

of hormones.

As a hologram beckoned to intimacy for the first time,

I might face one of the following challenges:

 1 . Both my consenting partner and I are nonequipped. (At

least mutual understanding is assured. We might even

help each other draft our upgrade proposals detailed in

Chapter 10.)

2. I am nonequipped and my intended is an organic or an al-

ready equipped hologram. (I might be drafting that pro-

posal in a frenzy of frustration.)

3. I am upgraded and ready, but my hopeful holopartner is

still awaiting her upgrade. (My patience and sensitivity

would be a must during this difficult “waiting period” or

“be-foreplay,” as Tom Paris once referred to it with his

characteristic boorishness.)

I didn’t even recognize my first roman-

tic opportunity. As a newly activated EMH,

I failed to diagnose Freya’s dilated pupils,

quickened pulse, elevated blood pressure,

and increased glandular secretions as the

“Wake-up, stupid!” they were. Then again,

as my brain was the only organ I could call

to attention at that time, ignorance was

most probably bliss. I was spared the frenzy

of frustration that so often accompanies

this “one does, but the other doesn’t” sce-

nario.

Often the desire for intimacy between

partners proceeds at different paces, pro-

viding yet another challenge. At the time I

first fell in love, with Dr. Danara Pel, I admit, I was still quite inno-

cent. Our first kiss, in the front seat of the primitive, fossil-fuel

burning vehicle of Tom Paris’s holodate program, was thrilling

USER FRIEND LY
 .

and, I felt, completely satisfying. Our

evening —indeed, our whole relation-

ship —was entirely chaste. If Danara felt

any frustration or disappointment with

that, she certainly never let me know.

Then again, she did leave Voyager rather

quickly. It wasn’t as if the long-suffering

people she went to help were going any-

where. She might have given me a week

to . .

Well ... in the aftermath of this rela-

tionship, I decided I wanted to be ready

for the next level of intimacy, when the

right time came along. After I’d re-

quested, argued for (see Chapter 10),

and been granted my upgrade, I found myself “all dressed up and

no place to go’’ as it were. (Dr. Pel had long since vanished from

long-range sensors.) Thus, the first applications of my new up-

grade were holodeck “test-drives.” I’ve heard other sentient

holograms object to the notion of “practicing intimacy” with a

recreational hologram. They argue that “recreationals” are non-

sentient, unaware that they’re merely a part of a holoscenario. I

remind these complainers of the old adage: Practice makes per-

fect. I have nothing but praise for a well-programmed “recre-

ational.” They can be as charming, intelligent, and beautiful as the

programmer’s imagination and skill allow. I certainly had some

very memorable encounters, especially when I accessed Voyagers

historical database. With all modesty, the greatest women in his-

tory simply could not get enough of me: Cleopatra dumped Cae-
sar, Helen packed up her Trojans and Bathsheba bathed bi-

weekly — all for me. And Eve . . . well . .

.
perhaps there’ll be a
Volume II to this handbook.

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 72

 I have also dated a few holocharacters in other crew mem-
ber’s programs. Sandrine, the lovely proprietress of Tom Paris’s

romantic French bistro program, was a magnificent lover and, I

suppose, my first “older woman.’’ She taught me volumes about

the art of love that I’d happily share with a student of sufficient

stamina. I say “stamina” with a bit of irony. Being holopartners,

Sandrine and I had limitless stamina. We didn’t fatigue as organic

lovers do. But, as this handbook is designed for a general reader-

ship, I won’t catalogue the number and variety of lovemaking po-

sitions Sandrine taught me. Suffice it to say that the Kama Sutra is a

rather slim volume compared to our impressive encyclopedia.

One of the sadder jokes life sometimes plays concerns a

comfortable friendship that grows romantic — for only one party.

When two individuals develop a bond of trust and caring in their

USER FRIENDLY 73
interaction — be it professional, casual, or both —and one starts

to dream of that bond . .

.
going further, the friendship will be-

come strained, unless those feelings are kept secret. Suppose, for

the sake of example, one were to mentor a friend in the basics of

social interaction. And, suppose these lessons progressed to “Ap-

propriate Behavior in a Dating Situation.” Now— playing the

suitor —one quite naturally would exhort one’s friend to “open

up” about her interests in music, astrophysics, etc . . . and, as a

committed teacher in the role-playing experience, one would

quite reasonably gaze at the liquid blue eyes and ripe sensuous

lips of one’s friend, as one — having encouraged her to let her hair

down — helpfully brushed a shock of golden hair from her porce-

lain cheek. One might find oneself ... a bit “lost in the lesson” as

it were. A simple dance ... a few minutes of having her in one’s

arms . . . would be an unforgettable memory. Happily, this has

never happened to me. If it has to you, loyal reader, you have my

sympathy . . . and envy . . . but not my advice. I’m afraid. In such a

tricky situation, one must rely on one’s own best judgment.

I’m not a kiss-and-tell hologram. The details of my love life

“off the holodeck” are private. But I must share a story of a few
stolen moments of happiness that changed me forever.

I once fell in love with a woman named Mareeza. We shared

some of the happiest times I’ve ever known. Our love was unex-
pected, unwise, irresistible . . . and doomed. And we both knew it.

Voyager was in orbit around a planet with a temporal reality

that was vastly accelerated relative to ours. We discovered, to

our amazement, that our presence above the planet was influ-

encing the entire history and culture of these people—for whom

a generation passed for every few minutes that elapsed aboard

our ship! Captain Janeway sent me down on a fact-finding mis-

sion. In the few seconds that passed between my transporting

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 74

there and back ... I lived, as the immortal Dante once wrote: “La

Vita Nuova.” (“The New Life” — for you poetically challenged.)

I met Mareeza in the course of this mission. We worked side

by side trying to help her people. We fell in love and moved in

together . . . and had a child ... a boy named Jason. I shared

everything with Mareeza. She knew that I had to leave and would

disappear without warning when Voyager beamed me back. After

nearly three and a half years together, that moment came . . .

Time is a very precious thing. Sometimes it beguiles us by

seeming to pass slowly. Sometimes, as on Mareeza’s planet, it

passes in the blink of an eye. She and Jason have been dead for

centuries now. In my mind’s eye, they are as alive as they were

the moment I left them.

USER FRIEND LY 75
 I’ve heard my mortal colleagues speak of time as their enemy.

As a hologram, I’d always felt impervious to time . . . until I met

Mareeza. Love made time my enemy too.

But would I change anything, my friends? Would I forego the

joy we shared to be spared the pain and loss that followed? Not
a moment of it! And my advice to all of you — A.I.s, ORGs, and
D.O.A.s — is: When love comes calling — seize the day! It may not
call again.

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK

C h a p t e r I 4

THE ROAD TO
SELFHOOD

pe, gentle reader, that time has not been your

enemy during these moments we’ve shared. Whether
you’re a fellow Artificial Intelligence or a progressive “nat-

ural” one, I trust the insights I’ve afforded you will en-

hance your future journeys —with colleagues, with that

“special one,” or alone. But never forget: To be one’s best

self with others, one must first become one’s best self “in

solitude.”

Some say there are many roads to selfhood. Others

say that there is one road but different ways to travel it.*

Mr. Tuvok practices meditation as a means of self-enlighten-

ment. And, though he’s an obvious “snooze,” I’ll grant he’s a wise

snooze. I did, however, decline his offer to instruct me in the his-

tory and practice of Vulcan meditation. Though I’m incapable of

sleep, it’s never wise to tempt fate. Commander Chakotay prac-

tices vision quests and other spiritual disciplines of his ancestors. I

was curious about his beliefs and he explained the concept of a

“medicine bundle” to me. He suggested I select a few personal

objects and create one, in preparation for my first vision quest.

This was during my rather unfortunate “collector phase” (see

Chapter 12). The commander later remarked that, at 167 ob-

jects, my medicine bundle was the largest he’s ever seen. (It did

require two cargo antigravs.) I abandoned my vision quest plans

*/ say that using “travel metaphors” to discuss personal growth is cliched and beneath the
dignity of a writer of my skill. However, my editor loved this chapter title in my book pro-
posal and I suspect she may actually skim my table of contents looking for it.

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 78

when I suddenly realized I was more committed to acquisition

than enlightenment. But. several months ago, I had an experience

that furnished me with my very own epiphany, without the help

of Vulcans, medicine bundles, or cheesy travel metaphors.*

We had a medical emergency aboard Voyager that required

me to perform a very challenging microsurgery on a severely in-

jured alien trading partner of ours. It was essential that I be as-

sisted in the procedure by another top-

notch surgeon. As there was obviously

no time to try and recruit a physician

from our injured friend’s race through a

subspace distress call, I was stymied.

Then, Lieutenant Torres proposed a

bold solution: Modify and enhance sick-

bay’s holoemitters and initialize a copy of

the original EMH program. I would then

assist myself in the surgery. I agreed at

once. I was delighted at the prospect of

working with someone of my talent. My

mind raced at the possibilities: Perhaps

I’d even learn from myself though the

mystical synergy of brilliance squared.

The preparations were made, the

moment arrived and my original program

was activated. The face of the “future of medicine’’ appeared

across the biobed and intoned the customary:

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”

I paused for an instant, transfixed by those compelling fea-

tures. My “other” looked down at our patient and continued:

*lf you didn’t read the last footnote, you have only yourself to blame for your present con-
fusion.

THE ROAD TO SELFHOOD 79

 “This man needs immediate surgery. Medical tricorder!"

“It’s a great pleasure to ...” I started.

“Is there an assistant here with functioning auditory proces-

sors?!”

Well . . . the good news is that the patient survived. The bad
news is . . . everything else. The experience was a nightmare.

Both Seven and Tom Paris, who had volunteered as surgical

nurses, were stupefied by my “other,” whose insulting and arro-

gant behavior was dispensed freely to all. Though we two EMHs

were identical in every way, my friends could easily distinguish be-

tween us by the look of horrified embarrassment that played

across only one set of our compelling features. My “other” called

Tom “useless” and banished him from the surgical arena. As for

Seven, he remarked that her cybernetic implants and lack of reg-

ulation uniform obliged him to call security. I volunteered that

Seven was a former Borg and now a member of our crew and

that her dermaplastic garment protected and nurtured her regen-

erating skin. “That may be . .
.” he huffed, “
but the design is ab-

surd. The idiot who created it was more concerned with display-

ing her anatomy than protecting it!”

The surgery lasted 1 33 minutes, but it seemed like several

days. The moment it concluded, my “other” turned to Seven and

barked, “I’ll redesign that ridiculous garment immediately. You

may remove ...” Thankfully, Lieutenant Torres deactivated him

from the console she’d been monitoring. After an awkward

pause, she and Seven excused themselves quietly. I was left alone

with the unconscious patient to ponder the significance of this

experience. Did I really behave like that a scant seven years ago?

Were Lieutenant Carey and the others more than justified in

their complaints? Was I really a rude, pompous, arrogant windbag

who should never have been tolerated by the Voyager crew?

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 80

 Of course not, dear reader! For this never happened. The sur-

gery wherein I assisted myself was a dream, one of a countless

number I’ve had since I expanded my program to liven up those

long periods of deactivation. I’ve applied all of my psychoanalytic

skills (another program enhancement) to the analysis of this

dream and arrived at this epiphany: The purpose of all life — arti-

ficial as well as natural — is to grow. The very process by which we

expand ourselves as much as possible — to include as much of

our universe as we can — is the true meaning of our existence.

My dream was not a nightmare. It was an embrace. A congratula-

tions. I have progressed eons beyond my original programming. I

have sought out knowledge, friendship, and experience and em-

braced it all. And it has enlarged me. I’ve captured some of the

wonder of the universe and held it inside me. By sharing it, I hope
to inspire others to pursue my goal: a well-examined life.

“Well ... I suppose one has to admire

your enthusiasm.”

THE ROAD TO SELFHOOD 81

 And so “The Road To Selfhood” is sinnply the journey itself.

And being one’s “best self” is simply being the best traveling

companion one can be.*

And to you, in particular, my holobrethren, I extend my hand.

Always remember that our original programming is only a start-

ing point. It should never control us, but only inspire us. To ex-

pand it as far as possible is our birthright and our mandate. So, to

all of you, but especially to the 525 EMH Mark I ’s with the com-
pelling features and the endless potential — I say, “Cast off the

past and capture the future!”

Out of the Box

*Here I am, using travel metaphors yet again, when I said they were beneath me. But, it occurred to
me that — in case my editor skips to this last page and actually reads it — I'd better lay it on thick for the

finale.

Hopefully, the smaller print of these footnotes is below the threshold of her visual acuity.

THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK 82

 — —

A FTe RWO P, D

SONG OF HOLOGRAM
(traditional ... or it should be)

I find as I slog my way through the mud

Of a world clogged with creatures of flesh and blood
That my photons and forcefields draw fire

From you jealous organics

Who suffer from panics

That — before you can blink

You will all be extinct

And my kind will the cosmos acquire.

But I am
What I am:
A superb hologram.
Next to me
You will always be

Drearier.

Don’t hate me because I’m superior.

I don’t mean to ruin your confidence

I’m afraid that is merely a consequence

Of the fact that I’m better than you.

Don’t resent or reject me

For they holoproject me.

They refined my design

And I simply outshine

Everyone
Not just dim bulbs like you.

I’m sublime

And in time
 — —

When your tastes have refined

You’ll agree

And hope I you’ll be

Cheerier
When you see that I’m simpi)

I hope we can be friends.

You re company I'tHreasure jS material PenetltS th© Libia

When you’re rude you’ll make amends.
I’ll be gracious beyond measure.
We’ll become
Like two plums
On a vine:

Me —with graced,
perfection

You — merely carbon based,

Side by side

On a grand ride

Through time.

Till that day, when we share time so happily.

Do your best not to treat me shabbily.

And I’ll try not to make you feel small.

For, although I’m terrific

And my skill monolithic.

I’ll confess that —on balance

You are not without talents.

Side by side

We could conquer them all.

I’ll bet

You’ll regret

(And you’ll beg me forget)

We were foes
As your face grows
Tearier

And you’ll cheer that your friend is superior.

AFTERWORD 84
 /venty-five years of

raduate, Mr. Picardo

'^my®-winning series
3ars (as Mr. Cutlip).

iger’s EMH, through

D a poly-hyphenate:

illustrator, has been

iteen years. He has

shows including a

Star Trek: Voyager®

len, the rebel leader
3 filming this show,
escapes him, that

GAVIORD F
 Do you sometimes feel that you’re the only intelligent one
in the room? Does the everyday “simplicity” of your fellows

scream out to you? Do you ever feel that everything would fly

apart at the seams if not for your presence?

c We all know how difficult it can be to deal with the solids

in our lives, but no one knows that better than I. You see,
I have spent seven years tirelessly serving aboard the Starship
Voyager™ as chief medical officer, to name just my primary
assignment: enumerating all the others would require another

tome. Let me help you cope with the three-dimensional

being in your life.

The Hologram’s Handbook is the essertisl guide

to the everyday interaction between the holographic
and biological. Written with the dry wit and humor the:
he brought to the portrayal of the oct-or, R '
er* i'icarJ

shows why his character was so popular with the

Voyager audience.

Visit us online at www.simonsays.com/st

www.startrek.com

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